


I Don't Feel Like Dancing

by MachineQueen



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachineQueen/pseuds/MachineQueen
Summary: Lambert, future king of Faerghus. When he's not doing kingly things, he's masterminding monastery pranks.Rhea orders Lambert to represent the Blue Lions' house in the White Heron Cup as punishment. Rodrigue steps in.Set when Rodrigue and Lambert attend Garreg Mach Officers' Academy.
Relationships: Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	I Don't Feel Like Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my collab with [@motkaofstorms](https://twitter.com/motkaofstorms) for the [ Ultra Rare Pair Big Bang!](https://twitter.com/ultrararepairb1)
> 
> I hope you like my characterisation of Lambert - I wanted to make him a foil for the more serious Rodrigue. I imagined those three years at Garreg Mach as the last time for him to really have fun before becoming king. 
> 
> I'm excited to see everyone's work! Thanks to the Big Bang team for organising the event and encouraging diverse content!
> 
> [@machinequeen4](https://twitter.com/MachineQueen4)

“Do you dare disobey your future king?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Oh. Well. Drat.”

Rodrigue plucked another weed so Lambert couldn’t see his smile. They’d been at it for an hour at least. The novelty of doing servants’ jobs had long worn off. It was tough work, especially in the humid air. The pair of them, used to the perpetual cold of Faerghus, were down to their shirt sleeves. Lambert huffed as he tossed another plant into the sack. Rodrigue tried not to stare too much at his king’s bare wrists and strongly muscled arms. After years of capes and furs and long trailing cloaks, it was a revelation to see Lambert so uncovered. 

“Your Highness, while I cannot fault your brilliance I worry Lady Rhea’s patience is wearing thin.”

“Lady Rhea gets a kick out of making nobles weed her gardens,” grumbled Lambert. “I demand recompense.”

“It is a learning exercise,” Though perhaps Lambert was right. Whenever Lady Rhea addressed the Sunday congregation, there was a smugness behind her serene smile. Did she know something the rest of them didn’t? Perhaps the Goddess laughed to see the great and good performing chores, falling in the training hall and choking down foreign cuisines.

“What are we learning?” asked Lambert.

“We are strengthening the body.”

...Not that Lambert needed help with that. He happily heaved sacks of flour and sugar around for the kitchen staff whenever they asked. If anyone needed carrying to the infirmary, he was first to volunteer.

“Which we do every day in the training hall.”

“...Correct, Your Highness.”

Lambert laughed, triumphant. “You see? This is needless. Free labour when our fathers already pay a handsome sum to the church for us to attend the Officers’ Academy. Audacious. Brilliant.”

“That may be, but we still have to adhere to the curriculum.”

“My point is, Lady Rhea cannot exclude us. She would lose both her free labour and the right to say the King of Faerghus studied in these hallowed grounds.”

Rodrigue glanced up. Lambert’s choir boy blue eyes caught him. Oh no. Try as he might, he could never say no to his king when he looked at Rodrigue like that. Hopeful, pleading with a hint of sparkling mischief.

“What did you have in mind this time, Your Highness?”

***

“Come,” Rodrigue told the horse. “This way.”

It was the dead of night. The Academy was shut up, in complete darkness. Any patrolling knights were on the perimeter - they wouldn’t notice anything amiss until it was too late. The horse seemed to think it all a great game indeed and excitedly headbutted Rodrigue’s chest.

“Hush!” whispered Lambert.

“Your Highness, you cannot hush a horse,” Rodrigue said. “I cannot believe I agreed to this.”

“Listen. It is brilliant. It is inspired. Everyone will remember this coming morning for years and wonder how we did it, ”said Lambert. “We will be legends. Everyone will wonder who dared play such an audacious prank.”

“I hoped to become a legend for my deeds as your knight…”

“Well, can one ever really have too many legends about them?”

“If Lady Rhea catches us-”

“Then we will have a good laugh over a cup of tea.”

Rodrigue smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “Will there be cake too? I hope she will have my favourite, with cherries on the top.”

“Absolutely. She will save you the biggest slice.”

“Very well. You have convinced me.”

The horse nudged Lambert, nostrils twitching. He patted her muzzle. “I have the means to convince her as well. Let’s go!”

***

Rodrigue’s hair stuck to the back of his neck. All he wanted was to serve his king and yet it got him in trouble more than anything else. Even as a child, he’d gone along with Lambert’s games - swapping the salt and sugar, a frog in the maid’s shoe, a bucket of water above the stable door. Kids’ stuff. 

“Do you know why you are here?” asked Seteth. He sat stiffly, spine stick straight. 

“Yes,” said Rodrigue.

“No,” said Lambert. 

Seteth sighed. “Rodrigue. Why do you think you are here?”

Rodrigue swallowed. Lambert shot a panicked glance in his direction. “I am sorry that I did not clean the kitchen properly.”

“There is not cleaning the kitchen,” said Seteth. “And there is letting a horse run rampant in it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Rodrigue did his best to feign surprise. It was not exactly a five star performance.“There was a horse in the kitchen?”

Seteth rolled his eyes. “We have had similar conversations one too many times. As such, I have no choice but to involve Lady Rhea.”

“Excuse me?” said Lambert. “What proof do you have that we were involved?”

Seteth dropped an item onto the table like a chessmaster doling out checkmate. Rodrigue took a sharp intake of breath. A black iron spur. Clearly Faerghus made. Rodrigue was the only one in the monastery who wore such an item. 

“You probably did not notice. You dropped this in the dark.”

There was nothing they could say to dispute the judgment. Seteth sat back in his chair. A hint of a smile played on his lips.

“Lady Rhea awaits you in the audience chamber. Off you go.”

***

It had been funny, watching the knights and servants try and wrangle the horse out of the kitchen. She hadn’t managed to eat any of the food (mysteriously packed away in cupboards) but she had left hoofprints everywhere, chewed several pieces of the worktop and left behind some rather...pungent...additions to the floor.

Several packs of students gathered in the early light to watch the show. Laughter filled the air. Even some of the Seiros Knights broke their stern expressions to chuckle. The horse seemed thoroughly pleased with herself, tail swishing, head held high. 

“That horse has had the time of her life,” said Lambert. “We have done a good deed, my friend.” 

“A bit unfair, showing such favouritism to that particular horse.”

“Listen. I would hate to be a horse. Life would just be... stable, patrol, nearly hit by a spear, stable. This horse shall remember her grand adventure into the kitchens forevermore. It is payback, after she did not drop me into a ditch during our mock battle.”

“You could have just given her an apple, you know.”

“Apples lack finesse. A king should be more thoughtful with his gifts.”

Rodrigue laughed. His heart felt full. 

He wasn’t laughing now. 

The pair of them were escorted to the Audience Chamber. Though in a way, Rodrigue was glad they’d been caught. They could get the punishment over with, rather than wondering when the monastery would pinpoint them as the culprits. But being sent to Lady Rhea herself was worrying. Rodrigue wasn’t sure he wanted his exploits reported to his father. The last thing he needed was another reason to irritate the old man. 

Lambert shot Rodrigue a reassuring smile. He was utterly unruffled. Kings didn’t need to worry. They could be the biggest disappointment in the world. They’d still have divine blood.

Lady Rhea stood in all her holy garb, a vision. Rodrigue didn’t know if he was afraid or awed. Possibly both. He wasn’t a good judge of women, but even he knew she was a great beauty. 

“Lambert. Rodrigue. I did not believe we would have the pleasure of speaking until your next class mission. This is very disappointing.”

“It was never our intention to disappoint. Only to spread a little joy in these dull winter days,” said Lambert. He smiled his most charming smile. Lady Rhea did not smile back. She must have a heart of steel. It was the only explanation. 

“Do you think it is a joy for my servants, to clean up your mess? Or the chefs, to have their workspace disrupted in such a way?”

“Well, I- perhaps I did not consider that.”

“Indeed,” said Lady Rhea. “You did not. You are both inconsiderate, immature and irresponsible. Unworthy of the Goddess’s teaching. Do you mean to mock me and all Her humble servants?”

“N-No,” said Rodrigue. “That was certainly not our intention.”

“I am unconvinced. Was it not you who took every single fork from the mess hall? Were you not the ones who swapped over all the class textbooks? And what about those chickens running loose in the classrooms?”

“Ah, yes I recall. Chickens one, two, three and five. I cannot claim responsibility for that stroke of genius,” said Lambert.

This was true. The numbered tags had been Rodrigue’s idea.

“Continue to lie to me and I will have you expelled,” said Lady Rhea. “You will be the first king to earn that particular honour in a thousand years.”

For the first time since they’d entered the audience chamber, Lambert began to look nervous. “Surely that is rather drastic?”

“You will have to convince me you are taking your education at Garreg Mach seriously.”

“I give you my word. There will be no more pranks.”

“I do not take the word of liars. No, I have something else in mind. You will have the honour of being your class representative for the White Heron Cup.”

Lambert paled. The first formal ball Rodrigue attended with him, Lambert broke the toes of a well to-do young lady. She had sobbed her heart out at both the pain and being left out of the dancing to nurse her foot. Lambert surely wouldn’t make it through the cup without causing injury to himself or others. Dancing was perhaps his king’s most obvious weakness. As the foremost knight of His Highness, there was only one thing for Rodrigue to do. 

“Lady Rhea,” said Rodrigue. “I humbly apologise. The pranks were all mine. I do not think it is fair to punish His Highness for something I dragged him into.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. As such, I will gladly take on the White Heron Cup for the Blue Lions class.”

“Hmm.” Lady Rhea looked unconvinced. 

“I can assure you, my king was entirely innocent. I led him astray and I am overcome with shame that I-”

“Enough! Very well, I accept your proposal. But if I hear Seteth has sent for either of you again, I will not give you a second chance.”

***  
Their walk back to the dorms was a quiet one. Rodrigue could dance as well as any noble could, but in front of the whole school? And well enough to beat two competitors? There was no way the situation wouldn’t lead to nightmare-inducing embarrassment.

“You did not have to do that,” said Lambert. “I should have taken it.”

“Hush. I do not see how you breaking your bones or anyone else’s would have helped the situation.”

“I am not that bad! I have not broken anything for years!”

“Margravine Gautier’s antique satsuma bowls?”

“Oh, please. Objects do not count! Particularly ugly ones.”

“‘Just what we need, another Blaidydd boar crashing about the place.’”

Rodrigue’s impression wouldn’t win any acting awards, but Lambert laughed. He never minded being called names. It all just ran off him, like melting snow off the roof tiles in Fhirdiad. 

“At least let me help you practice. It is the least I can do.”

“You want me to risk my pride and my ankles?”

For once, Lambert didn’t have a comeback. Rodrigue jostled his shoulder, to show he was joking. Lambert jostled back. “Thank you, Rodrigue. Seriously.”

***

The first dancing lesson was excruciating. Rodrigue wasn’t sure his body was supposed to bend into the positions he’d put it in. The only thing he wanted more than bed was to complain to Lambert.

He was usually easy to find, as his booming laugh carried over campus. But today Rodrigue was coming up short. Usually was in the stables or the kitchens or the training hall, exchanging jokes with knights or gently chivvying classmates. 

Rodrigue became worried. They’d only been apart a couple of hours. Surely nothing could have happened to him in so short a time. Though Rodrigue was otherwise occupied, they were surrounded by Knights of Seiros in a fortified building. Lambert wouldn’t have gone outside...would he…?

It would be unusual for Lambert to be in his room at this hour. Still, it was worth checking. Rodrigue knocked politely. “Your Highness?”

“Enter.”

There was no lilt of laughter in Lambert’s voice. Something was wrong. It was rare for him to isolate himself unless something was on his mind. Rodrigue mentally pushed his own dancing related troubles to one side. 

Rodrigue shut the door behind him. Lambert’s room had a barely-lived-in feel. There was nothing on the walls and only a handful of books on the bed stand. Most of them looked like they’d been checked out from Garreg Mach library. 

Lambert was slumped at the desk with his back to Rodrigue. 

“Your Highness? What is it?”

Lambert turned. A storm raged across his face but in the end he tossed Rodrigue a stiff letter encrusted with the royal seal. 

“Read it.”

Rodrigue handled the paper carefully. A letter from the king. Lambert’s relationship with his father was...complicated. They got along well enough. But every now and again, Lambert would buck against the weight of royalty. Kings were supposed to be objective, calm, collected. Lambert was more rough and ready. It was difficult to change his mind, especially when he was passionate about something.

Rodrigue scanned the cramped cursive… _Lady Eleanor is very accomplished. I believe the two of you would get along well._

There was a miniature painting enclosed. Lady Eleanor was blond and fair skinned. She posed in a sea foam blue frock, eyes wide and innocent. She was surely too delicate for accident prone Lambert. According to the king, the lady’s skills included: sewing, cooking, piano playing, horseback riding and wine tasting. She could make conversation in three different languages and attended the theatre every week.

“Are you going to meet with her?” Rodrigue asked. He felt like he had a mouthful of thorns.

“You say that as if I have a choice,” huffed Lambert. “Royals have all the power, except when it comes to their own lives.”

“Your parents were an arranged...courtship.”

“That’s different. Father knew Mother all his life. They always knew they’d be married. They did not make arrangements for me because they said they wanted me to make my own choice. But now they keep pushing all these women on me.”

“Lady Eleanor looks pretty enough.”

“The women never look like the pictures. The only consistency tends to be hair colour. Why are you sticking up for my father? Do you want me to marry her?”

Rodrigue’s mouth went dry. “I want you to be happy.”

Lambert scoffed. “I do not mind playing the fool. But to have to do it always, with a wife in the house? I shall go mad.”

“No one thinks you are a fool.”

“I do not mind. Let them think what they will. People like me and that is what matters. But a wife...”

“Marriage is part of our duties. That is the unfortunate truth.”

Their eyes met. Rodrigue tried to imagine Lambert married to Eleanor. He would serve his queen too, of course. But it would never be the same as just the two of them against the world. Then there was Rodrigue’s own life - he’d have to marry too. His father hadn’t pressed the issue yet. He was waiting for Rodrigue to finish his education. This was actually very generous of him, considering some of his peers were already married. All the same, the obligation chafed. It would not be easy for Rodrigue to ignore the way his heart thumped everytime Lambert bestowed him with a genuine smile.

Lambert sighed. “...You are right. I am being unfair. I will meet her.”

“You don’t have to marry her. Just give her a chance.”

“If I have a terrible time, I will be holding you responsible.”

“Noted, Your Highness.”

Lambert smiled then, tiny and unsure. “Let’s get some tea. How was the dancing? Terrible, I expect? We can commiserate together.”

Rodrigue nodded. He tucked the miniature back into the letter and set it on the desk. They needed to make the most of this time with each other. They had three years of shelter before being thrown waist deep into Kingdom politics. And it was already going much too fast.

***  
Rodrigue was exhausted. He had to fit practice and tutelage for the cup on top of all his other work, chores and duties with Lambert. So far he’d managed to slip practice in while Lambert was otherwise occupied. Today he was not so lucky. The task was difficult enough as it was without his king watching him. Lambert’s opinion mattered - Rodrigue didn’t want to make a fool of himself. But he needed to practice. And Lambert had not let him turn down the offer of help. Like everyone else (apart from Seteth and Rhea), he had Rodrigue dancing to whatever tune he chose.

They were in the empty Blue Lions classroom with chairs stacked in front of the door. It was peaceful to be shut away from the rest of the Academy, despite the painful ordeal of dancing. They pushed all the desks to the edges of the room and moved anything breakable to somewhere Lambert could not knock it over. 

Rodrigue tried not to stare at his kingly forearms. The white shirt was more flattering on him. Rodrigue’s crumpled from being too loose. 

“Show me what you have so far,” said Lambert.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I give you my most sincere promise.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I! Am I smiling? No, I am not. This is my ‘I am a serious royal’ face. See?”

Lambert meshed his face into an exaggerated frown. It made him look like his father. It also made Rodrigue laugh, despite the tension thrumming through every muscle. “I suppose I will trust you then. Even though you were the one who got me into this mess.”

Lambert sobered. “That’s why I need to help you. I got sent to a special dance tutor after the toe breakage incident. I do know a thing or two about dancing.”

“Can you count for me, then? One to four, if you please.”

“Count?”

“Unless you’d like to whistle me a tune or drum on one of the desks?”

“Oh! Of course.”

Lambert started the count. His voice was calm and level, the one he used when trying to persuade teachers and parents to take his side. Rodrigue took a breath. Then another. He’d already stretched so he could go straight into the routine he’d worked out with their professor.

Usually all Rodrigue wanted to do was look at Lambert. He knew if he did it while dancing, he’d be pulled straight out of the flow. He tried to keep his gaze on the nearest item of furniture instead. But during the final spin, he miscalculated and their eyes met. Had Lambert ever watched him so intently before now? What was he thinking? Was he bored? Laughing on the inside? Pitying? Rodrigue could usually read what Lambert thought of other people - a sigh in the wrong place meant they were a fool, a particular smile meant he enjoyed their company. Yet when it came to how Lambert felt about him, he wasn’t as sure as he’d like to be. 

Rodrigue felt his legs shake under the intense blue of his eyes. He faltered. His feet conspired to trip him over. Before he could fall, Lambert leapt forward to catch him. 

Rodrigue clutched onto Lambert’s arm and used it to steady himself. He definitely did not take advantage of the situation to feel the muscle properly, strong and solid under his hand. Lambert was broader and taller and Rodrigue had never felt it more than he did now, pressed close enough to feel his warmth. Lambert’s other arm was around his waist, steadying. He set Rodrigue back on his feet with a gentleness he usually only afforded to horses. 

It would be so easy for Rodrigue to tilt up on his toes and kiss him. Lambert’s face was carefully blank. If only Rodrigue could tell what he was thinking...

“Whoops-a-daisy,” said Lambert, breaking the moment. It was something the queen used to say. Being both accident prone and a prankster, Lambert heard it a lot. And as Rodrigue spent so much time with Lambert, he heard it a lot too. That single word carried with it a wealth of shared history. All the reasons why Rodrigue wanted to kiss him and all the reasons he couldn’t.All he could do was try and kick his mind into working properly again. 

“How novel for you to be preventing a fall instead of causing one.”

“Just call me your knight in shining armour!”

“You cannot just take my role!”

“Sometimes I wish I could.” There was something wistful in Lambert’s tone. But before Rodrigue could poke at it, he flashed his most kingly smile. “Shall we try that again?”

***

The only way Rodrigue would live through this was one heartbeat at a time. 

The professors had assembled a temporary wooden stage and filled the hall with rows of seats. Everyone would be watching. Even Lady Rhea had come down from her tower, flanked by knights. Probably not just to make sure Rodrigue upheld his end of the bargain.

The competitors were to assemble behind the stage. Rodrigue wanted to stay where he was, safe amongst the other Lions, until the very last second.

Lambert kept up a running commentary to distract him. “So the Eagles have picked a girl, something Nuvelle. She looks clumsy as a fawn, I’ve seen her in the stables. The Deer have picked a girl too. Lady Judith seems very fond of her and she’s a confident thing but teeny-tiny. Like a mouse or weasel. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

It was almost like Lambert was nervous too. He kept looking at Rodrigue with a crease in his forehead and tapping his foot.

“Insulting the competition isn’t very kingly.”

“Do you want to make a run for it? Pretend to have a fainting fit? Retreat to Fraldarius and live the rest of your life in a snowy cave?”

“No. A knight’s courage should never fail. I will do it.”

When Rodrigue was called forward, Lambert gave his shoulder an encouraging pat. Was it wrong that riding into battle scared Rodrigue less than performing in front of the entire monastery? The thought he could shame his house and embarrass his future king lurked at the forefront of his mind.

The Eagle girl would go first. He managed a shaky good luck. The Deer paced up and down, doing little spins and hops. When would this torture end?

The Eagle girls’ performance simultaneously took forever and no time at all. Then Rodrigue was called on to the stage. And it was really, actually happening.

He tried not to look at the audience. He closed his eyes and listened for the music. They’d chosen a war song, which the monastery band tackled with relish. Rodrigue moved his feet in time to the drumbeat. As it picked up speed, so did his steps. His arms came into play for the twirls. His hair whipped out behind him and he pointed his toes. The drums grew faster still and then the jaunty woodwinds joined the fray.

The routine was two minutes. What seemed like infinity in rehearsals shrank to no time at all during the performance. Rodrigue finished with a final flourish, a complicated twirling leap. The one he’d messed up during practice. Don’t think of falling into Lambert’s arms! Don’t! He landed the jump and had never been more glad of anything in his life. He began to bend into his final bow and the Blue Lions leapt to their feet, rapturous applause led by Lambert. They exchanged smiles. Rodrigue felt the familiar pull to go to his liege’s side. But it wasn’t over yet. 

The Deer went out to dance. Then the votes came in. 

After a bit of nail biting, Rodrigue became the winner. The winner! The professors praised his ‘lithe grace’ and ‘impeccable timing’!! The trophy was foisted on him by the arts professor, a campy Adrestian who rattled on at length about Faerghus footwork.

Then Lambert stood on a chair and made a speech, something about Rodrigue being the pride of his pride of lions. It wasn’t the best speech. Rodrigue drank it in all the same. Every scrap of praise his king gave him was tucked into a special pocket of his heart. 

Everyone was looking at Rodrigue, talking to him and congratulating him, a sea of voices that left him dizzy. During the after party, he danced and danced and danced, with every single girl in the year including his fellow competitors. The boys were more coy, but some of them danced with him too. 

By the time Rodrigue was free to look around again, Lambert had already gone.

***

There were so many flimsy, delicate trailing pieces of cloth Rodrigue couldn’t work out how on earth he was supposed to wear the dancers’ costume. The white tunic first. Surely it was much too short. Was he really meant to go into battle in this? 

Lambert tapped on the door. “Are you ready yet?”

“No, Your Highness. I- I think there must have been a mistake in the tailoring.”

“Let me see!”

“No, wait, I-”

Lambert already had the door open. Rodrigue froze in place. The tunic brazenly displayed not just bare leg but thigh. Was this divine punishment for his enjoyment at seeing Lambert with so little clothing?

Lambert’s gaze trailed the length of him. “That cannot be it.”

Rodrigue’s dry mouth managed to splutter out something about a sash. Mercifully Lambert cottoned on and picked up the strip of royal blue cloth.

“I see. You have to drape it like so and then fix it to the shoulder.”

“You do not need to dress me,” mumbled Rodrigue. He could feel his skin turning prawn pink at the touch.

Lambert retrieved the belt and fixed it in place. He checked the drape of the cloth, arranging it to make the costume a little more modest. Rodrigue could barely think with Lambert’s hands on him, warm and careful. 

“This is the least I can do, as you wouldn’t let me stage an escape from the contest...”

Rodrigue stayed still as Lambert began to adorn him with jewellery. Necklaces, bangles. Then a silver choker with a jewel at the centre. Lambert had to lift his hair to fasten it properly. Surely he must hear the frantic beat of Rodrigue’s pulse. 

Lambert stepped back to survey his work. “You look…” He trailed off.

“Foolish?”

“No. When you dance, you are...”

Odd silence. It wasn’t like him to be lost for words. Lambert stepped back to adjust the jewel on the choker. Then his fingers traced the column of Rodrigue’s neck, explored the curve of jaw. His mouth angled close enough that Rodrigue could feel the whisper of his breath on his cheek.

Rodrigue closed his eyes. And pushed Lambert away. Hard enough that he stumbled.

“You are to be king.” He made his voice as firm and even as possible.

“But I want-”

“No. I do not want to start something I will not be able to stop. We both have our duties. We must marry, for the sake of our families.”

“The way you look at me, Rodrigue. Like I am your whole world. No woman ever looked at me like that.”

“One of them will.”

“I do not care! I am tired of having everything decided for me all the time. Why can I not have something I want? Just once. Just for a little while.” Lambert’s blue eyes burned into him, leaving him defenseless. “I do not want my - my first kiss to be some woman I will never see again. I want it to be with someone I care about. Someone I trust. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Your Highness.”

Rodrigue caught Lambert by the lapels. Raised himself up on tiptoe. Then their mouths crashed together without reason or rhythm. But the longer the kiss lingered, the softer it became. Lambert sighed into his mouth, a giddying gust of breath that left Rodrigue trembling.

Rodrigue pulled away first. Lambert flushed, breathing hard. He wouldn’t meet Rodrigue’s eye and Rodrigue knew it meant nothing would ever be the same again.

There was no choice but to pretend. Rodrigue bowed, the picture of knightly politeness.

“And now to battle. After you, Your Highness.”

**Author's Note:**

> To make up for the ending, I leave you with this image: Seteth running around the monastery for hours looking for chicken #4.


End file.
